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.It’s still dark inside the van, though I know it’s morning by the sun gleaming in from under the door.My head is resting in the crook of Mikey’s arm, and surprisingly, he isn’t snoring for once.The air is stuffy in the van and I begin to dress after untangling myself from Mikey’s body.He stirs and opens his eyes, looking up at me with a smile.“I could get used to this,” he says groggily.“Me too.” I lean over and kiss him with a smile.“Come on, though.I can’t wait to see what we’re having for breakfast today.Maybe Tami laid another egg,” I laugh.“You wanna?” Mikey grins.“No, last night was just fine for me.Right now I want to eat.” I slip my feet into my boots.“I feel used.” He feigns shock.“Get used to it,” I smirk.“Just not right now.”“Really?” He grabs me, and when I try to pull away he drags me down on top of him.We kiss and I can tell we’re both getting carried away, but my stomach rumbles for food and breaks the spell.I laugh and roll off him, and he dresses by the light of my flashlight.“You ready?” I ask, opening the van doors and stepping out into the bright day.“Jesus.” I pinch my nose to get rid of the smell as my eyes widen to the size of saucers.“Mikey!” I scream.Thirty-Seven.My one moment of happiness is broken, crushed, trampled upon by the undead that surround the van and tree line around us.“Mikey!” I scream again, and reach for my machete.My hand hits air where my machete normally hangs, and I stumble backwards in search of it and bump into Mikey.He pushes me behind him, and I drop to my knees in search of my machete and holder.The moaning is getting louder, the smell of us reaching the dead and drawing their attention to us.My hand finally lands on my weapon, and I strap it around myself and pull the machete out.Mikey has already jumped down and is fighting with a deader.My heart skips a beat, and in that moment, I know that if he dies now—if the dead get him and I’m left in this shit-hole without him—that I may as well be dead myself.I run the length of the van and jump out with a guttural scream and my machete raised high.Probably not my wisest decision, since noise attracts the creepy dead dudes, but I’m sure it looks pretty awesome!I land awkwardly on the ground, but stand up quickly and chop through the center of a deader like he’s a prime rib and this is a five star restaurant—now all I need is a tasty side sauce.I kick at him as I pull out my machete.His insides are mush, and my machete slides out of him with relative ease, releasing his intestines to the ground.I slice across his neck and take his head from his shoulders, a splatter of black blood and gore spurting out from the hole in his neck where his head once proudly sat.“Crunch! JD!” I scream their names as more of the dead surround us, and the air gets harder to breathe with the stench of the cold, rotting bodies.We move back to back, our weapons slashing wildly around us and cutting down anything that gets too close, as we try to make it around to the front of the van.Jesus, they’re everywhere.There must be thirty of them.Where the hell did they all come from? Steve said he hadn’t seen any in weeks, and even then only the odd one or two.I can hear more fighting toward the RV, and I hope to God that it is Crunch and JD, and not Emily.I know that she can handle herself, but the thought of her fighting makes my stomach crawl.A deader reaches for me and I take off his arm in a swift movement that takes even me by surprise.He looks down at it in confusion before reaching for me with his other hand.I take that too, and nearly laugh as his little forehead furrows in frustration, his brain—or whatever it is that makes them tick—still telling him to grab me, but with what exactly? The deader comes forward, face-first this time, and I kick out at him, my foot hitting his left kneecap with a crunch and making him collapse down to the ground.I kick him in the head, he falls backwards, and Mikey stomps on his face, crushing it under his heavy boot as we continue our backwards scuttle.I chance a glance around me and catch a glimpse of Crunch doing a flying kick, both Kukri knives held high.I don’t see what happens when she lands, but I don’t hear her scream in pain, either, so I’m guessing that’s a good sign she’s okay.My heart is beating wildly, the sound of blood whooshing in my ears making it hard to think straight, and the smell—goddamn, the smell is palpable in the air.I cough and splutter, biting down on the inside of my cheek to stop the vomit from rising, and slash out at a short, curly-haired deader with half its face missing, leaving me with a prime view of the inside of its mouth and teeth.I scream as I do it, a war cry to get it to back the fuck away from me, but it doesn’t back away; they never do.They don’t care about limbs and missing faces, they care about brains and new flesh to feast on.I think of Emily and fresh panic surges.A switch in me clicks, and my fear drops into a bottomless pit.I breathe out, step away from Mikey’s back, and fight my way back to the RV.Thoughts run wild in my head, but a single goal is in mind.I can’t lose her, I can’t lose him, I can’t lose them.Lose? No, I can’t, I won’t—no fucking way.Zombies surround the camper, and I want to cry as they pile in and I hear screaming coming from within.I run up behind them, decapitating several that are jammed in the doorway.Several more are inside, but when I look toward the source of the screaming I see that it’s Steve and not Emily.Our eyes meet and he stops screaming—possibly through embarrassment, possibly because he knows that his number is up.He reaches for his bottle of Jack Daniels and chugs it back as zombies surround him and dive in on the feast, Steve a la carte.I step up and into the RV, grab the nearest deader and drag it backwards and off Steve.Its hands reach back for me, attempting to claw at me, but I swat them away and use the deader as a zombie shield as another one stops its slow execution of Steve, stands up, and makes a grab for me too.Meaty intestines hang from his dried-out lips, the blood trailing down its chin like spittle.My little zombie shield is still reaching backwards for me and I grip it firmly under the jaw, tilting its chin up to expose the soft tissue of its neck while avoiding its blackened teeth, and drag my machete across its throat.Gunk pours down and I push harder until I feel my weapon slice through the bones and tendons holding its head in place.Deader guy comes forward and I duck out of his way as I drop my now re-dead deader and send him flying toward the floor.He sprawls out, and then pushes his arms under him, attempting to push himself upwards.I stomp on him and slam my machete through his back and out through his ribcage.Somehow between kicking, stabbing him, and narrowly avoiding his neck and head, I manage to shuffle him into the doorway of the RV.I reach for the handle and pull the door closed on his face [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.It’s still dark inside the van, though I know it’s morning by the sun gleaming in from under the door.My head is resting in the crook of Mikey’s arm, and surprisingly, he isn’t snoring for once.The air is stuffy in the van and I begin to dress after untangling myself from Mikey’s body.He stirs and opens his eyes, looking up at me with a smile.“I could get used to this,” he says groggily.“Me too.” I lean over and kiss him with a smile.“Come on, though.I can’t wait to see what we’re having for breakfast today.Maybe Tami laid another egg,” I laugh.“You wanna?” Mikey grins.“No, last night was just fine for me.Right now I want to eat.” I slip my feet into my boots.“I feel used.” He feigns shock.“Get used to it,” I smirk.“Just not right now.”“Really?” He grabs me, and when I try to pull away he drags me down on top of him.We kiss and I can tell we’re both getting carried away, but my stomach rumbles for food and breaks the spell.I laugh and roll off him, and he dresses by the light of my flashlight.“You ready?” I ask, opening the van doors and stepping out into the bright day.“Jesus.” I pinch my nose to get rid of the smell as my eyes widen to the size of saucers.“Mikey!” I scream.Thirty-Seven.My one moment of happiness is broken, crushed, trampled upon by the undead that surround the van and tree line around us.“Mikey!” I scream again, and reach for my machete.My hand hits air where my machete normally hangs, and I stumble backwards in search of it and bump into Mikey.He pushes me behind him, and I drop to my knees in search of my machete and holder.The moaning is getting louder, the smell of us reaching the dead and drawing their attention to us.My hand finally lands on my weapon, and I strap it around myself and pull the machete out.Mikey has already jumped down and is fighting with a deader.My heart skips a beat, and in that moment, I know that if he dies now—if the dead get him and I’m left in this shit-hole without him—that I may as well be dead myself.I run the length of the van and jump out with a guttural scream and my machete raised high.Probably not my wisest decision, since noise attracts the creepy dead dudes, but I’m sure it looks pretty awesome!I land awkwardly on the ground, but stand up quickly and chop through the center of a deader like he’s a prime rib and this is a five star restaurant—now all I need is a tasty side sauce.I kick at him as I pull out my machete.His insides are mush, and my machete slides out of him with relative ease, releasing his intestines to the ground.I slice across his neck and take his head from his shoulders, a splatter of black blood and gore spurting out from the hole in his neck where his head once proudly sat.“Crunch! JD!” I scream their names as more of the dead surround us, and the air gets harder to breathe with the stench of the cold, rotting bodies.We move back to back, our weapons slashing wildly around us and cutting down anything that gets too close, as we try to make it around to the front of the van.Jesus, they’re everywhere.There must be thirty of them.Where the hell did they all come from? Steve said he hadn’t seen any in weeks, and even then only the odd one or two.I can hear more fighting toward the RV, and I hope to God that it is Crunch and JD, and not Emily.I know that she can handle herself, but the thought of her fighting makes my stomach crawl.A deader reaches for me and I take off his arm in a swift movement that takes even me by surprise.He looks down at it in confusion before reaching for me with his other hand.I take that too, and nearly laugh as his little forehead furrows in frustration, his brain—or whatever it is that makes them tick—still telling him to grab me, but with what exactly? The deader comes forward, face-first this time, and I kick out at him, my foot hitting his left kneecap with a crunch and making him collapse down to the ground.I kick him in the head, he falls backwards, and Mikey stomps on his face, crushing it under his heavy boot as we continue our backwards scuttle.I chance a glance around me and catch a glimpse of Crunch doing a flying kick, both Kukri knives held high.I don’t see what happens when she lands, but I don’t hear her scream in pain, either, so I’m guessing that’s a good sign she’s okay.My heart is beating wildly, the sound of blood whooshing in my ears making it hard to think straight, and the smell—goddamn, the smell is palpable in the air.I cough and splutter, biting down on the inside of my cheek to stop the vomit from rising, and slash out at a short, curly-haired deader with half its face missing, leaving me with a prime view of the inside of its mouth and teeth.I scream as I do it, a war cry to get it to back the fuck away from me, but it doesn’t back away; they never do.They don’t care about limbs and missing faces, they care about brains and new flesh to feast on.I think of Emily and fresh panic surges.A switch in me clicks, and my fear drops into a bottomless pit.I breathe out, step away from Mikey’s back, and fight my way back to the RV.Thoughts run wild in my head, but a single goal is in mind.I can’t lose her, I can’t lose him, I can’t lose them.Lose? No, I can’t, I won’t—no fucking way.Zombies surround the camper, and I want to cry as they pile in and I hear screaming coming from within.I run up behind them, decapitating several that are jammed in the doorway.Several more are inside, but when I look toward the source of the screaming I see that it’s Steve and not Emily.Our eyes meet and he stops screaming—possibly through embarrassment, possibly because he knows that his number is up.He reaches for his bottle of Jack Daniels and chugs it back as zombies surround him and dive in on the feast, Steve a la carte.I step up and into the RV, grab the nearest deader and drag it backwards and off Steve.Its hands reach back for me, attempting to claw at me, but I swat them away and use the deader as a zombie shield as another one stops its slow execution of Steve, stands up, and makes a grab for me too.Meaty intestines hang from his dried-out lips, the blood trailing down its chin like spittle.My little zombie shield is still reaching backwards for me and I grip it firmly under the jaw, tilting its chin up to expose the soft tissue of its neck while avoiding its blackened teeth, and drag my machete across its throat.Gunk pours down and I push harder until I feel my weapon slice through the bones and tendons holding its head in place.Deader guy comes forward and I duck out of his way as I drop my now re-dead deader and send him flying toward the floor.He sprawls out, and then pushes his arms under him, attempting to push himself upwards.I stomp on him and slam my machete through his back and out through his ribcage.Somehow between kicking, stabbing him, and narrowly avoiding his neck and head, I manage to shuffle him into the doorway of the RV.I reach for the handle and pull the door closed on his face [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]